


Primadonna Girl

by Shameless_Weeb_Lacking_A_Filter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Absent John Winchester, Angst, Bulimia, Child Neglect, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Consensual Underage Sex, Eating Disorders, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, F/M, Feminization, I live for weecest pet names, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Incest, Jealousy, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Pre-Canon, Sibling Incest, Slight gender dysphoria, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Weecest, Weechesters, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-10 20:52:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10447254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shameless_Weeb_Lacking_A_Filter/pseuds/Shameless_Weeb_Lacking_A_Filter
Summary: Sammy's got a secret and Dean's got a girl. It's 1997 and everything that used to make sense doesn't anymore.Or; John leaves his boys alone for two months and they do what they can to get by.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saltandbyrne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/gifts), [livv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livv/gifts).



> I don't usually gift works to people I don't know personally, but I don't know, man. 'Gutless' fucked me up good. It's a present for livv, too, because she's my best friend and I promised. 
> 
> Also this turned out hella short and I'm sorry.

Her name is Lila Brown.

She wears coral lipstick and flannel shirts with the first four buttons undone. She likes beanies and her tits are so huge that Sam's surprised she can even walk without falling on her face. She swears like Dad when he's drunk and Dean's basically in love with her.

Dean likes tall girls. Willowy brunettes. Big brown doe eyes and dimpled smiles. Lila is an anomaly, short with blonde hair that shines like expensive shampoo and blue eyes to match.

It breaks Sam's heart.

 

_"Y'know why I pick all those girls, don't you, Sammy?"_

_Sam doesn't, and says as much as Dean's fingers slip inside him, spit-slick and searching._

_"They look so much like you, baby boy," he angles his hand a funny way and brushes a spot that makes Sam gasp. His breath is hot, wet puffs by Sam's ear, tongue swiping a line up Sam's neck. "It's easy to pretend."_

 

She's pretty, in a Midwest dime-store kind of way. She doesn't look even a bit like Sam, and instead of drowning himself in what that could possibly mean, he decides that her personality must be so similar to his that it doesn't even matter what she looks like.

It isn't. Or maybe it is and Sam just can't recognize himself in other people. Either way, Sam hates her guts, and if he had friends he's pretty sure that they'd hate her bitch ass too.

Ever since she showed up, Dean hasn't touched him once. There used to be at least promises of touching, filthy words whispered against cherry-balm lips and traced against the zip of Sam's jeans. Now there's nothing, just rambles about Lila and her eyes like the ocean and how good she is with her tongue.

 

 

CVS carries razors and lipgloss and a million other tiny little bottles that Sam's decided he needs desperately, like a painted face will bring his brother back into his bed. He buys it with money saved up from meeting older men on street corners and hopes that Dean doesn't notice the missing cash.

There's another store in that same shopping center that sells ladies' delicates. Sam has a pair hidden in his pocket and he's out the door before the lady who runs it can even blink.

Dean likes tall girls.

Sam's tall.

He can be a girl if that's what Dean wants.

 

The razor catches a few times on his knees and ankles as he shaves everything smooth, and he cries in the tub, bleeding and curled up on himself until the water runs cold. _Sometimes it feels like he fucks up everything he tries._ Lila's coming over tomorrow night, to their shitty little motel room, and Dean's gonna fuck her while Sam sleeps not ten feet away.

The thought's enough to make him shave everywhere, frantic and desperate. Girls don't have hairy legs and Dean only likes girls.

 

 

The next day, Dean takes Lila to a diner, all gentleman-like to make her put out, and Sam tags along-- like Hell he's gonna let this bitch-harpie alone with his brother. No one says anything about the shimmery pink polish on his nails or the matching gloss on his lips. The sides of his hot pink thong peek over the top of his jeans, hidden by his shirt, and Sam wriggles in his seat like he's got a secret.

Dean doesn't ask about the cuts on his arms and legs left by the razor either, but Lila does, wondering aloud if everything's okay, if he needs to see the school counselor because she's apparently a very nice woman and wouldn't it be nice to be listened to for once? 

It takes Sam a minute to realize that she thinks he's cutting himself and when he does he laughs right in her beautiful fucking face.

 _"No,"_ he wants to say, just to see the look on her face. _"They're cuts from shaving. Why? Not that it's any of your business, but I was hoping to get laid."_

"No, no, it's nothing like that," he says instead, his smile so plastic that Dean narrows his eyes. "It was a dare, is all."

Lila isn't satisfied.

"A dare? To cut yourself? Sammy, maybe you should get new friends--"

"My name isn't Sammy," he snaps, and goes to the bathroom to wash his face because if he spends another second with that girl he'll explode.

 

 

He's splashing water on his face when Dean comes in, creeping up behind him and grabbing Sam's dick like some kind of pervert.

Sam moans anyway, leaning back into his older brother. He'd missed this _so much_. Dean's hard against his ass, grinding himself up and down real slow.

"You like that, you little slut?" Dean growls in his ear, hot and breathy. "All dolled up like this for me. God, the stuff you do to me, kid."

 

_"Fuck, kid, just like that, gonna make me cream my pants like some fucking teenager." The man doesn't know Sam's name and Sam doesn't know his, only knows that his pockets are fat and loose and that he'll give it all up to be buried eight-inch deep in little boy._

 

"Wanted you so bad, Dean," Sam gasps, breath catching as Dean's hand moves up and down on his cock. "She took you from me and I wanted you so bad."

Dean's hips stutter against his ass and his hand dips inside Sam's jeans.

 _"Fuck,_ Sammy, you--" he can't seem to finish, focusing instead on feeling exactly how bare Sam is down there. His fingers trace over the patterns of bright pink lace and Sam shivers.  

"I did, so that you can fuck me. _God_ , I want you to fuck me."

"Want me to fuck you right here, Sammy? In a dirty restaurant bathroom?" Dean gives a low whistle. "That's some kinky shit right there, baby brother."

Not half as kinky as how Sam leaks when Dean calls him 'baby brother'. That's exactly what Sam wants: for Dean to ruin him, wants to feel him inside for hours, days, _weeks_. Wants to soak through his shorts with just Dean's come and feel like he's owned.

"No," he chokes out. "Not here. Not with _her."_

"Gotta make a decision, baby," Dean huffs, breathless laughter on the back of Sam's neck. "Can't go changing your mind every minute." 

He slurs all his words together the way he does when he's mindlessly happy, and Sam feels a hundred rocks drop into his stomach. 

"Can't do it, De. Can't do it with her in the other room." The look on his brother's face is innocent puppy confusion, distress setting in on the edges. It's the first time Sam's denied him. 

Dean makes an affronted noise but doesn't argue, pushing into a stall and getting himself off, making the same little noises he makes every time he comes fast and hard. Sam can picture the faces he makes that match those sounds. Can picture Dean's calloused hand stroking himself to completion and getting come all on his fingers, less of it than usual 'cause of his new girl's tongue.

Sam slumps down on the counter, a wet spot at the front of his jeans.

Sam hates Lila Brown.

 

 

The thing about Lila isn't how much she talks. It isn't even that she starts every other sentence with, "I hate to be that girl, _but..."_ (which, admittedly, pisses him off. If she really hated being 'that girl', then she wouldn't be 'that girl').

The thing is that she acts as if she knows who they are.

She eyes their bruises and scars like she knows their stories, plays up sympathetic glances, pretends she knows that Dean Winchester is made of broken stereo systems and car engines and a love for his little brother. That's what gets Sam the most.

'Cause Lila doesn't know _shit._

She doesn't know that in the hour before they picked her up, Sam made Dean come twice just with his mouth, sucking his dick in their daddy's car on the drive over.

She doesn't know that in a month John will come back drunk and no closer to finding Mary's killer than he was this time last year.

She doesn't know that there's a werewolf two towns over that Dean's thinking of hunting, but Sam won't let him.

She's just some flavor-of-the-week bimbo that thinks she's special _,_ and if there's one thing Sam hates more than a whore it's an ignorant one.

 

_"Ain't nothin' but a stupid whore." It's a deal gone wrong, Sam'd gotten too cocky, gotten picked up by the wrong guy. A guy involved in far worse things than child prostitution. "You think you're hot shit, don't ya? Fuckin' bitch boy." He spits in Sam's face. "You're just a dumb whore who don't know shit about nothin'."_

_"You're wrong," Sam croaks, and the guy drives the message home with his fist._

 

 

 

 

Sam gets nightmares, sometimes. 

Monsters and fathers and house fires, the smell of smoke and the sound of screams,  _yes sir, no sir, I'm fine._  

 

_Qui eripuit nos de potestate tenebrarum, et transtulit in regnum Filii dilectionis suae, in quo habemus redemptionem per sanguinem ejus, remissionem peccatorum Takeyourbrotheroutsideasfastasyoucan straightenupboyyoucallthatapunch ungratefulpieceofshit justafuckingbitchboy youshouldneverhavebeenborn_

 

The worst ones are about Dean's girl. 

The pair of them, Dean and Lila, sharing milkshakes across the counter, Lila's stupid lipstick staining the straw. Dean makes eyes at her over the glass and watching it makes Sam sick. 

They back into the bathroom, Dean's hands on Lila's hips, rubbing slow circles into the bone the way he does for Sam when he's crying. He hikes up her skirt and Sam can see all of her, Lila's body nothing but skinny girl-shaped perfection. 

Something about it disrupts Sam's insides, worms its way inside him and presses on his chest. 

 _"What's wrong, Sammy doll?"_ Dean had asked once, when Sam was real little and crying for no real reason 'cept attention. 

Dream-Dean asks the same question now, head cocked like he doesn't know that Sam's the one that's messed up. 

"'M all in pieces, De," he mutters, maybe aloud, maybe just in this surreal nightmare. He pinches the fat on his stomach and pictures it in the same places Lila has it: chest, ass, thighs, softening around that pretty pink pussy. "All busted up inside." 

It suits how he feels. A hundred glittering bits of stained-glass window, just heavy enough not to blow away in the afternoon breeze. 

Dean beams at him, and Lila's tank top rides up enough for Dean to slot his fingers in the spaces in between her ribs like they were made to fit there. They're looking at each other, all giggles and secret smiles like love should be. Even though this is  _his_ dream (his nightmare), Sam feels like the intruder in a private moment. 

School starts tomorrow morning and he already knows how well it's gonna go. 

 

Sam wears Dean's jacket that first day and it nearly swallows him whole, landing somewhere just above his knees. It probably looks ridiculous, but Sam doesn't care. Dean'd given him the most heated look in the history of heated looks when he saw him in it (it had quickly become clear that, if it wasn't before, the No Touching rule was one-hundred per cent abolished) and being wrapped up in it feels like love. 

Maybe he'd developed some Pavlovian response to the smell of leather and gun oil, started associating that smell with Dean and Dean with home. It's kind of sad when he thinks about it. 

He's wearing the jacket before first period when he's in the bathroom, cramming his fingers down his throat and puking up his breakfast while everyone's still in the hall getting ready for class. He shows up late and everyone's whispering about him, but he gives the teacher his very best puppy dog eyes and he's forgiven. 

"Tell us about yourself, Mister... Campbell, was it?" 

"Yes'm." 

The teacher, a severe-looking woman with her hair tied back in a strict bun like in the movies, gestures vaguely with her hand. 

"Go on, then." 

_My family hunts monsters, honest-to-God monsters._

_I can name sixteen individual times I wanted to kill a person, and all of them involved my brother's exes._

_I ruin everything I touch._

"My name's Sam Campbell. Originally I'm from Kansas, but we move around a lot. This is the eighth time I've done this this year, and I'll probably be gone within the month, so," he grins his best Dean-grin, trying for charming but coming off a bit scary. He always does. "Don't get attached." 

He shoves his stuff into the nearest desk and counts the minutes until he'll see Dean again. 

 

Lunchtime comes around and Sammy's back behind the plastic door of a bathroom stall, acid rejection burning his tongue raw. 

 

Dean doesn't know. 

As far as Sam's concerned, Dean never  _will_ know. 

Big brother's hands run down bony sides and come to rest on knobby hips. 

_I worry about you, Sam-I-Am. Gotta eat more._

_Yes sir,_ Sam spits back in the heat of the moment, spiteful and low. It's an insult of the highest calibre, to be compared to their father, and Sam hasn't used it since he was about eight (which, Dean tells him, was the worst year of both of their lives). 

Dean ignores him and buys him dinner with the last of their money, watching his every bite and every sip and every step. Sam sneaks into the restroom anyway, grunting something about needing to piss. 

He doesn't. 

 

 

John shows up unannounced, just like every other time he suddenly remembers he has kids. 

They're halfway to South Dakota when Sam realizes that Dean never got to say goodbye to Lila. 

He smiles through the bile in his mouth and thinks that it serves the bitch right. 


End file.
